An Offer Given Twice
by Daylo
Summary: Goblin Kings don't handle rejection well. Now he's got the perfect plan, but Sarah won't be tricked down twice. In fact, she's being quite uncooperative. So who must come up?
1. Honesty

I was clicking around and I happened upon The Labyrinth Revisited by Give-Me-Your-Coffee ((come on, who can ignore a name like that anyway?)) and I got all motivated and. . . stuff. So I continued looking around, trying to quench this new thirst with stories like An Equal Partner by Solea ((this is starting to sound like an advertisement)) and several more. In conclusion, I became obsessed and must get this story I thought up out of my system or I'll explode.

That is my only reason. Not the best excuse you're ever heard, I'm sure, but surely a sound one. Forgive?

**WARNING:** I'm going to take my time with this story. I mean in updates and in my writing. I want to take things at a steady pace and not make any obvious gaps in the plot. As far as my talent will allow, of course. I'm keeping this story rated M just in case, but it make take a step lower. I give props to "explicit content" but I don't think I have the ability to write it, ha ha. I'll still try.

_**An Offer Given Twice**_

**Introductory Chapter One: Honesty**

Jareth lay on the ground, back to the cold floor, arms spread as he thoughtfully considered his options. In his time of absolute failure, serenity prevailed over any sense of fury, loss, or panic. His eyes followed the hypnotic movements of the staircases as the gravitational magic crumbled like he imagined his reputation in the Underworld was doing now. The glitter and majesty that held his Stair Room together left when _she_ did. It had now transformed into his private Brooding Room, his place of pity and fret; though he had little worry that any stone would be as so imprudent to fall on him. He had, in a moment of consideration, thought to change his form so he could personally ensure _she_ returned from the Underworld safely. Though he did not move. Not that the Goblin Kind was physically unable, it was more like he didn't want to. And the greatest perk that Jareth continually exploited was the unspoken fact that no one told a Goblin King to do something he did not wish to perform.

Except for maybe _her._

'_A moot point,'_ he thought. _'She defeated me. With only her words, my room lay in ruins.'_ His insides clenched at the vague understanding that this room wasn't the only thing feeling shattered. The King could not feel his heart beating, for all the sorrow it held, his heart would not beat for him anymore.

His familiar, a snow owl of his exact likeness when he changes form, took the responsibility of guiding _her_ home as Jareth continued to practice the grandeurs of immobility. It was now that Souay cooed her return, perched on a nearby stair piece that had fallen as close as it dared to the Goblin King. Curious, he pulled his eyes away from the magnetic fall of his once most treasured room. Of course, now that it was his Brooding Room, it will probably remain his favorite place in the entire Underworld; he smirked a little at himself and looked to his familiar. The snow owl's calm arrival and patient stature told him that Sarah Williams was safe in The Above.

His head nodded in approval. She cooed again, resettling her wings delicately.

'_Once, I imagined Sarah delicate.'_

Centuries of being King could have blinded him of _her_ strength, _her_ will. Not of human strength, but _hers_. She must be a being entirely of her own definition; her achievements are proof enough of her inhumanity. Because humans do not solve the Labyrinth, befriend his loyal dwarves—what The Bog was his name??—or attract the love of a Goblin King. He knew that it was by no fault of his character that brought about this ending. _She_ was just that good. Or was she just that young?

Jareth was aware that with youth came the feeling of invincibility, a fearlessness that only age can dim. He knew that even as she trembled, it was just as much from adrenaline as it was from the awareness of death. She was breathing off the excitement of her role in the story of their fate.

'_Ah, but Sarah also rejected my proposal. Sarah rejected me,'_ his dead heart whispered. Could he also blame that on youth? Age and time were different Below, is there any hope that she was simply too young? He offered her the world and his all-consuming affections. He would give himself. And in committing himself to _her_, Jareth willingly allowed his heart to follow Above with _her_. Sarah did not take, he gave; for better or for the definite worse.

"Souay," he called gently, knowing that his thoughts were simplicity if it was the snow owl that read them. She glided towards him, a trail of whispers in her wake as her feathers combed the wind and fell gracefully on his ribcage. The snow owl faced his mismatched eyes readily. His heart would not even flutter for the sweetness of Souay's loyalty. "I have been defeated, yet you continue to heed my call."

She only resumed her stare, urging him to come to his own conclusions.

Jareth formed a familiar twist in his lips, "Perhaps you would like me to replace 'defeated' with 'discarded'?"

Souay cooed to him.

"What a cruel lady you are," The Goblin King leaned forward and placed a kiss on her white brow, "to suggest such a thing."

Jareth had learned early in his life that it was perfectly fine to lie to others—provided the liar kept detailed records—but to lie to one's self was an entirely different matter. The dangers of inner conflicts can bring great disaster, which explained why Jareth is. . . was such a perfect King; he was powerful, charismatic, instinctive, and more than tricky, he was clever. The pros and cons to lying was something the previous Goblin Kings had not figured out.

So he lay for a moment longer, staring into the darkness of Souay's eyes with a laziness that comes just before admitting the truth. There wasn't a being alive that could look into his familiar's eyes and not be honest. At least, honest with oneself. A Goblin King honest with everyone is a preposterous notion. In fact, honesty in anything remotely related to goblins is quite correctly rumored impossible. Which is why Jareth and Souay being bonded was a cause for much confusion and mockery. Though with Sarah's image in his mind, three words came easier than any goblin might have thought, "I love her."

Souay didn't move. _Go on,_ she pestered him silently,_ go on, Goblin King, go on._

"But now that I have been, shall we say, thrust aside—"

The snow owl opened her beak and pecked upon her master's clothing.

"—I said _thrust aside_, not politely declined. Give me this much."

Souay eyed Jareth sternly but did nothing.

"I may finish then?"

The snow owl remained as stagnant as her master.

"Now that I have been thrust aside," he paused, "do I still want to be devoted Sarah Williams? Is an unsolicited love going to satisfy me?"

'_No,'_ he concluded a second after his question, _'nothing less than my own dedication will do.'_

"So this leaves me with one last dilemma, my Feather Lady." Jareth tipped his head backwards and stared again at his new Brooding Room. It was becoming less appealing to him by the minute however. He frowned a little, wondering if it would be wise to even have a Brooding Room with regards to his future plans. Sarah would surely jest at him for such a place in his ownership. He frowned even more.

When no words came, Souay pecked at him again and with force. "My my, you do become impatient," he pretended to be cross. Neither of them was fooled.

Jareth held his forearm to Souay's breast and the snow owl regally climbed upon his offer. As he pulled himself to his feet in smooth, effortless motion, he thought over his decision one last time before devoting himself to it. Thinking it over thoroughly was rare—useless, even—since he was already committed the second he gave his heart away.

**End of Chapter**

_Thank you all for reading!_


	2. I Didn't Mean It

**Side Note:** All the stories I've read—loverly that they are, I'm totally not complaining here—had two things in common I would like to address: the Fae classification for those living in the Underworld; and the names Robert and Karen. I don't think I'll be joining in on these traditions. So it's important that you know

**Robert (equal sign) Chandler ((the dad))**

**Karen (equal sign) Beatrice ((the step-mother))**

I'll create a list or something later, because I'm also creating a handful of side characters. And I have an idea or two on how to handle the Fae thing, but you're just gonna have to read it to find out.

_**An Offer Given Twice**_

**Chapter Two: I Didn't Mean It**

The following morning had Sarah waking up sore and messy. There was a peculiar scent that was by no means "clean". But she awoke with a warm sentiment, as if a wonderful essence hugged her soul. She felt something steady inside her that she's never felt before. It was like seeing beautiful; like she could feel its touches all around. So she stretched her body underneath the covers and just stayed that way, enjoying the alive sensation of the blood rushing in her veins. She later pulled the covers off and found herself already dressed, "Huh. . ." but thought nothing of it.

She also managed to overlook how disheveled her room looked and the long strands of hair clinging to everything. Sarah was always a dull person in the morning. Acting out drama all day is a very exhausting business and it usually took her a good hour to step into the role. She scuffed her feet against the floor, hitting the occasional book or doll that for some reason wasn't where she left them. Oh well. She sauntered into the bathroom languidly, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes.

'_Oh man, what a dream. Something crazy always happens if I eat that cottage cheese. . .'_ she thought, reaching for the sink and the toothbrush.

A dwarf adorned with a variety of jewels and trinkets crawled out of the bathtub behind her, yawning. He stretched to a full height of maybe three feet before climbing the toilet seat and stepping onto the bathroom counter by the sink. His voice was heavier than Sarah's morning grog. "Mornin' Sarah."

"Good morning Hooglebait," she breathed out.

"It's Hoggle," said the dwarf hastily.

"You know, I think that cheese I ate gave me the craziest—"

Wait.

The toothbrush fell from her grip. "Ohmygod!"

The dwarf eyed her with some derisive sympathy, "Yes, I suppose cheese will do that to a human. You ought to be more careful."

She grabbed Hoggle's shoulders, "Moggle!"

"Hoggle."

"You're real!" she squeaked.

The dwarf placed a gnarled palm to the girl's forehead. "Just how much cheese did you eat?" he asked reproachfully.

"Huh? No, I. . you. . ." Sarah drifted back into her lethargic morning state, caught in the memories of her adventures. She was mystified by the possibilities and the blur between reality and fantasy. Her friends, the Labyrinth. . .

"Is something amiss with our Fair Lady?" Sir Didymus called from the bedroom, walking with a sideways tilt into the bathroom entrance. His noble red and gold attire still looked crisp regardless of how heavy-eyed its owner appeared. They all had a long night with little sleep. But the party was well worth it.

'_And the fairies that bite. . .'_

"She ate cheese," Hoggle supplied with a little worry in his eyes.

'_And those Helping Hands. . .'_

"Oh my, not too much I hope," said the fox knight, to which the dwarf just shrugged. His furry brows drew together in genuine, if not impulsive, concern. "I shall awaken Ambrosius and Ludo."

In her own little world, Sarah replayed the scenes of her marvelous adventure. She didn't notice Hoggle lightly nudging her out of the bathroom, she thought only of a cruel Goblin King, the Bog of Eternal Stench, and a dark oubliette. . . all of it for the sake of her brother. "Ohmygod!" she screeched, sending Hoggle rolling backwards. "TOBY!"

Ludo's head perked up as he was particularly responsive to high-pitched noises. "Sarr-ha?"

She was already racing out of the room, leaping over the fast-asleep Ambrosius and straight into Toby's room. "Toby!" she called, throwing the door open.

The baby cackled at the noisy world, nudged around under the thin sheets, and resettled himself for more sleep. Sarah's pounding heart slowed to a steady alarm, Toby was safe. _'That's right, I beat the Goblin King. I'm at home, we're all home.'_

She felt a swell of emotion rise from her toes as it mushroomed to every cell in her body, the pride she felt. Her great victory. _'I beat the Goblin King!'_

Since everything had turned out so wonderfully, the girl couldn't bring herself to feel regretful about the charmed expedition. In thirteen hours' time, she gained life-long friends, opened her mind, and learned a most valuable lesson: no way was Sarah Williams _ever_ going to wish _anything_ on _anybody_ again.

"All right," Sarah heard Hoggle from across the hall, "who's the idiot that gave Sarah cheese? C'mon, fess'r up."

With her morning starting off so fine, she was tickled happy with the CSI spoof going on in her room. Sarah chuckled as she tucked Toby around his sides; her smile grew when she noticed how her little brother clutched the teddy bear, Lancelot. This had to be to start of something new for Sarah. She was certain of it.

And then the horrible happened. Reality reared its ugly head, and its name is Beatrice; an elegant and beautiful name for a well-rounded annoyance. Sarah heard the front door close with an uncommonly loud Doom downstairs and flinched. "What is all of this ruckus, Sarah J. Williams?!"

The girl closed the door to her brother's room before quietly shouting, "I was playing puppets with Toby! He just fell asleep so kindly shut up." The girl smacked her forehead at her poorly chosen words. Though that's exactly what she thought and felt towards her step-mother, she didn't really mean to say them aloud. It just sort of came out anyways. They never got along and probably never will. End of story, but beginning of the tension.

"I'm sorry we're so late, honey," her father broke into the awkwardness, "but the party lasted so long, we all just decided to stay at the company hotel due to the sudden weather change. We tried to call, but the lines were down." He whistled, "That was one fierce storm."

By now, Sarah was in her room and had tackled Hoggle to the floor when it was obvious he was going to speak up. She gave everyone a significant stare, hoping they got the gist of her sudden panic. "Oh yeah? Storm change? Sounds interesting."

"Ha ha. Sarah, you don't need to humor your old man," the voice was coming from the stairway.

'_He's coming up!'_ The girl looked behind her; and she hadn't shut the door.

"Guys," she hissed quietly, "hide! Hide!"

Her Underworld friends all headed for the bed like skittish rabbits to a hidey hole. Personally, Sarah didn't think they were all going to fit under there, but she left that problem to them and rushed out of her room. By the time she shut the door behind her, the man of the house was standing right in her face.

"What's going on here?" Chandler asked, "you didn't have any _boys_ over, did you?"

Typical fatherly suspicions, _'Just act as you normally do.'_ Sarah rolled her eyes at him, "Daaaad."

"That was not a rhetorical question young lady, now answer your father." her stepmother commanded.

Sarah hated how Beatrice insisted on throwing her weight around the house. She didn't even now how to get around the house, but constantly saw fit to abuse her adult's authority. Motherly authority even, not that Sarah would ever call this witch mom. "Oh yeah," the girl clipped, "I had lots of boys over."

She imitated how wide their eyes went and leaned forward as if whispering a secret no one else should hear, "_Big_ boys. Huge."

'_Har de har, see how you like that, crone.'_

Her father was caught between being outraged or laughing. He could not tell if his daughter was lying or teasing. He knew that whenever Sarah lied, she had a tendency to. . well, look guilty. But she was confidently staring him down on this one. There was almost something forceful about his little girl that wasn't there before. It's as if she grew taller or something equivalent to it.

"As a matter of fact," Sarah continued after soaking up the golden moment, "Ludo is twice as big as any other, though ten times as hairy. Sir Didymus may only come up to my, hmmm, knees, but he has a huge heart. And I can't forget Hoggle the dwarf or Ambrosius, Sir Didymus's noble stead. Only slightly bigger than our very own Merlin—whom I let back inside after you guys left."

"Sarah!" Beatrice exclaimed, though Chandler expected as much. He gave a tiny nod to indicate this, but his expression mirrored his wife's reproach.

"Well it was raining outside! He's a member of the family," _unlike you_ "it's immoral to leave him in the garage."

Chandler only sighed with relief, his mind awhirl with thoughts of hormonal, lecherous boys. Sarah and her acting. "I swear those lessons are going to be the death of me," he said weakly. "Sir Diddimust, huh?"

"Close enough."

"Sooo, no boys?"

"Well, no _human_ boys at least," Sarah said helpfully. She wondered briefly if the Goblin King was human. He looked nothing like a goblin that much was obvious. _'Ah, a thought for another time,'_ she figured.

Her father chuckled, "When you're old enough to date—"

Sarah groaned loudly.

"—make certain to date with a similar species, all right hun?"

Sarah did her famous eyebrow wiggle that always got her on dad's good side, "On the evolutionary chain, we're closely related to gorillas."

They both shared a little laugh together like they used to after mom left but before Beatrice came into their lives; who was watching the playful banter like she was practicing some extreme form of tolerance. She seemed particularly irked how her father would become uncommonly protective when the topic of dating came up. Beatrice, on the other hand, was a firm believer in teenage romance. In order to get her step-daughter out of the clouds—and the house—and do something normal had to mean boys. Boys were the only answer. Eventually she huffed it off, retreating for this round, and stepped into the master bedroom down the hall.

Sarah turned around, very aware that her father wouldn't leave without at least seeing the inside of her room. She pushed the door open smoothly, trying to be light-hearted about the entire matter. "It's a little messy."

"My god. ." her father murmured. Usually Sarah had a very neat, don't-you-dare-touch-that-doll room. But this was something out of a horror film. "What happened?"

"Lightning scares me," Sarah supplied offhandedly. She cast a wary glance around her room, looking for any signs of her friends or other participants of last night's party. Tidiness was the last thing on her mind.

"Uh huh. I blame the cottage cheese."

There was a dull thump coming from under her bed and Sarah felt her body tense.

"What was—" he began.

"Hoggle."

"—the dwarf?"

"Of course!" Sarah piped, trying to maintain calm. She even surprised herself how steady her voice sounded right now. It was so unlike herself. "What else could it be if not a dwarf thudding around my bedroom? Ha ha ha."

"I've no doubt. Well, I'm glad to see that you're, uh, unharmed in your redecorating. I'm going to bed." Not sure of what to make of his new daughter, he just left for some much needed rest. It'll be better in the morning, or so he figured.

"Sure, sure, sleep tight dad."

He waved a hand to her before shutting the door to his room. And just when Sarah was about to collapse with relief, Misfortune crawled around the corner to join Reality.

"Sarah, isn't school about to start?" Beatrice called.

'_Damn you, if only you'd just disappear, oh how I w—hoa girl,'_ Sarah stopped herself. _'This will be harder than I thought.'_ Though the girl doubted a Goblin King would respond to wishful thinking, she wasn't one hundred percent certain. And there was no way that Sarah was going to go back through the Labyrinth to save _her_ of all people. Toby is her brother, she'd save him any day, everyday. _'But not Beatrice. Definitely not her.'_

Nonetheless, it was eight in the morning and school did start in thirty minutes. "I still have time!" Sarah called over her shoulder and immediately shut the door so she wouldn't hear that woman's annoying voice anymore. She fell to her hands and knees, scrounging around on the floor, "I just need to find. . . some—what is this?. . clean clothes. Ugh, disgusting."

"Lady Sarah?" Sir Didymus whispered, "Art thou unhurt, Milady? Tis safe to venture forth?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry guys. You can come out now," she lifted the lace covers from the side of her bed. "How do you guys fit under there?"

"Pwuh, you haven't figured it out?" Hoggle muttered.

All the girl could see were their heads and shoulders strangely connected with the carpet as the rest of their bodies were missing. Except for Ludo, she could only see from his nose up. "You look like monsters hiding under children's beds before they go to sleep," Sarah teased.

Hoggle snapped his fingers. "Bingo."

Sarah pulled Ambrosius from under the bed since he was having such a hard time. "You mean that _that_ stuff really happens?"

Hoggle shimmied from under the bed, ignoring Sarah's outstretched hand, "Of course. Beds, closest, trunks, you name it, Under does it."

"But that's. . It's so—"

"Scary?"

"I was going to say mean. Oh," Sarah bent down again, "Hey guys, is there anything for me to wear in there?"

"For thee, I shall search with the diligence of the heavens!" Sir Didymus exclaimed. Ludo only nodded his head in agreement. His loose grasp of English makes it difficult for him to understand most of his new brother's vernacular. The girl soon learned that whenever Ludo was uncertain about anything, he would just agree with it. Not a very human quality as humans liked to say no.

"Thanks," Sarah stood and searched in her drawers. It looked like someone had been sleeping in them from the way they were crumpled. Good thing her father wasn't looking too closely, because there were dirty goblin footprints all over the place.

That was curious, why were there goblins at all? Weren't they subjects to the Goblin King? But they were dancing around just as much as anyone else, having a great time. And more importantly, Hoggle and Sir Didymus didn't mind their presence.

'_Perhaps,'_ she thought with a glimmer of hope, '_perhaps goblins don't hold grudges? Maybe it was all just fun and games to them?'_

"Aha, we return to thee victorious!" Sir Didymus shouted with all his tiny lungs.

"Quiet you!" Hoggle snapped anxiously, "There are other humans in the house, too, you know."

Sarah frowned a little at a new problem she hadn't thought of. What of her friends? Not that she would ask them to, but they probably couldn't return to the Underworld, seeing as how they all betrayed their king for her. But could they stay here? She phased out a little, thinking over the possibilities as her gaze fell on the clock. Oops.

She grabbed the clothes and rushed into the bathroom to change. "Hoggle," she called through the door.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice like rocks rubbing against each other. He sounded suspicious, apparently a natural tendency next to his self-proclaimed cowardice.

"I have a lot of questions to ask, but is it ok if I put it off until after school?" Sarah hastily walked out of the bathroom. She wore barrettes in her hair to keep it in place; a sharp green blouse; a pair of khakis; and her favorite sneakers. "Thanks Hoggle."

The girl left with a bag slung haphazardly on her shoulder, shutting the door behind her fast-moving heels.

"Uh. . yeaaaah," the dwarf scratched his hat. "Hey Didymus?"

"Yes, my brother?"

"What is school?"

**_- - - - - - FANCY DIVIDER LINE - - - - - -_**

Sarah ran most of the way to school, completely oblivious to her surroundings. Running just for the fun of it was a great feeling. No Cleaners or goblins with spears at your feet; just the morning sun and the tardy bell. She felt as if there was an abnormal sugar-rush flowing in her veins. Like a weight lifted off her shoulders, everything just looked fresh and glorious.

"Yo, Sarah, wait! _Wait!_"

"Eh?" the girl skidded and turned around, "Oh. It's you guys, morning."

Heather and Gabriel raced to catch up, their chests heaving. No one could tell from their naturally slim figures, but the both of them were chocolate addicts and food junkies. Nothing really healthy about them. Heather placed her hand to the fence for support. "Who," breath, "did you. ." breath.

". . expect?" finished Gabriel as she usually did. Her hands were clasped to her knees, her head tilted to face Sarah's. Gabriel had some sort of insight into what other people wanted to say; she could finish everybody's sentences.

"Goblins," Sarah said, for once grateful that her reputation as a bookworm allowed her to get away with saying abnormal things. She wasn't prone to lying. She could act, and her character could lie, but the real Sarah wasn't much of a liar. This morning not taken into account; that was a fluke.

"_How do you like my Labyrinth?" the Goblin King had asked. _

_Sarah looked down briefly then brought her eyes to his, she wanted to look strong. "It's a piece of cake."_

The girl grinned weakly. Unless it was _him_, then she wasn't prone to lying. Somehow, it just made sense to lie to a Goblin King. Right?

"Not Labyrinth again," Heather slung a slender arm around Sarah's shoulders. "Get over that thing, will you?"

"Believe me, I don't think I'll ever touch 'that thing' again." The girl spoke with great conviction. The two girls exchanged glances; normally when Heather baited Sarah about Labyrinth, she would rise up in a literature-loving fury and advocate the wonders of the written word like no tomorrow. But this morning, they were hearing the same girl preaching to a different tune, "And you guys shouldn't either. It's not really as great as it sounds."

They started walking towards Wendell High School and Heather slung her other arm around Gabriel's shoulders, "You mean as great as _you_ made it sound?"

Sarah felt a little nervous, "Was that me?"

"Only everyday since you forced the Drama Club to share your fascination with it," Gabriel responded, as a full-time member of the Drama Club, she would know. "Remember? You're the one that 'suggested' we completely skip Snow White and do a remake of Labyrinth for the spring play."

"Oh?" she said defensively, "Well I don't think. . oh, wait. . . Oh nooo." It felt like someone tied a ball and chain around her ankles. Sarah's feet were suddenly dragging along the concrete. Her dark brown hair slipped past her slouched shoulders.

"What," Heather teased, "did the Club President veto your petition?"

"More like violent blackmail." Gabriel put in.

"No. No, it got in," Sarah's voice was small. "I just. . it's just not fair. . ."

Heather and Gabriel shared more curious glances about their friend's unusual behavior. They jumped simultaneously when the gloomy girl sprung into a pretentious stance.

"I've got it!" She pulled off her backpack and gave it to Heather. "Take this to first period; I've got to speak with the Drama Club President! Ok? THANKS!"

Sarah was gone.

Gabriel took the I-Love-Literature pack from Heather, "I think in her haste, she's forgotten that _I_ have the same first period she does."

"Yeah. . . hey, is there something, you know—"

"—different about our beloved Drama Queen? Yeah, I wouldn't worry though. I'm sure we'll learn to adjust."

**_- - - - - - ANOTHER FUN DIVIDER LINE - - - - - -_**

Sarah burst into the Drama Room, "Is the President here?!"

Now the Drama room was actually a large building, separate from the rest with a loft built in by the third-year Woodshop guys. Everyone was afraid to go up there, fearing its stability, so it was full of costumes and old set designs. She knew he wasn't there. That only left seven other possibilities.

"Who?" a freshman asked.

"Brendon Connelly! I need to speak with him!"

"Try the stage," another said.

Sarah said her thanks and ran through the double doors, "Brendon!"

The sight before her gave a queasy feeling in her stomach. They were already working on the background for Labyrinth. The old Sarah wanted to point out that their idea of what a Labyrinth looked like was completely wrong, as she would know. But this was not the time and the girl shook her head, _'I've got to stay on track.'_

A huge goblin jumped in front of her, arms wide open as if to grab her. "BOO!"

Upon instinct, Sarah screamed and swiftly kicked the actor to the floor before she realized her mistake. She just kicked her fellow actor. The girl guiltily reached down to pat her victim's shoulder, "I'm sorry. I guess I thought you were real. Ha ha? Good costume, right? Ha. . "

Brendon lay sprawled on the stage, pulled off his mask, and gave Sarah a good look at his human features. He was one of the lucky guys to be blessed with a classic dimple on his chin, black touch-me hair, and acne free skin. Sarah had the decency to blush her embarrassment. That and the obvious realization that Brendon's fangirls were going to murder her. Just touching his shoulder was an offense to merit weeks of harassment that only high school girls were capable of. **_AN: you know what i'm talking about, i'm sure; unless you're a male reader, then maybe not._**

"You called?" he asked, all charm despite a recent kicking.

Sarah nodded and got right to the point, "I know I said I wanted us to do Labyrinth, but I've changed my mind."

Brendon's blue eyes went wide, his mouth opened, but no words came out. The rest of the stage hands within ear shot stilled. Soon, everyone was listening with disbelief to what the legendary Drama Queen would say next.

"I didn't mean it. This is me, Sarah Williams, admitting I was wrong. I think that Snow White is a wonderful play and we should definitely not skip it."

Everyone on the stage laughed at the absurdity they just heard and for the first time in her entire life, Sarah didn't like being in the spot light. It occurred to her that no one would understand the dangers of playing Labyrinth seriously. And since she was the leading female role, that meant she had to wish her brother away again. She bit her bottom lip, _'What if the Goblin King returns while I'm just pretending to be calling on him?'_ Not that she had to ask; she knew very well what would happen if she spoke the words.

_Sarah's voice quivered. "You're him aren't you? You're the Goblin King," she swallowed. "I want my brother back—please—if it's all the same." _

_Jareth remained unconvinced. "What's said is said," crossing his arms against his chest. There was an unspoken tsk-tsk in his voice. _

"_But I didn't mean it," she pleaded. _

_He smirked, "Oh you didn't?"_

This was a nightmare. A goblin nightmare. He'd come, somehow Sarah knew he would come if she said the words. And even if goblins didn't hold grudges, she knew he would never forgive her. Facing this truth, she knew she needed to stop this play.

_**- - - - - - FUN WITH NON-EXSISENT LINES! - - - - - -**_

The Goblin King walked out of his Brooding Room, ignoring the invitations made from The Above, just begging for his special touch. He couldn't care less about _their_ wants, _their_ ungrateful wishes. Let someone else deal with the humans, he had Sarah. Well, will have Sarah. Same difference he figured. Since it was all a matter of time; something that was quite twisted and even illogical in the Underworld.

Jareth's foot came out and tripped a passing goblin. "I want you to inform my scribe that I'm going on vacation. Have him arrange for the Goblin Lords to attend to the wishes from Above. Understand?"

"My King," the goblin replied humbly, "I am your scribe."

"Oh?" Jareth leaned forward, not recognizing him in the slightest. "So you are. Well, go away then."

Souay eyed the Goblin King, wanting his attention.

Jareth tried to keep his gaze forward, absently petting his familiar, wanting to start his plans immediately. He knew what the snow owl wanted. And he was afraid he might have to give it to her. The dead ache in his chest, however, disagreed with protocol. It disagreed with everything but Sarah; who wasn't here and made certain to let the Goblin King know this with longing deadness.

"But my King!" the scribe howled in earnest. "To leave now would surely bring great ruin to Labyrinth and her kingdom!"

"What do I care?" Jareth snarled at his subject. His feet paced the hallway, unable to leave but unwilling to stay. Though he was not a creature ruled by his emotions, he was also not one chained by his responsibilities. It was a perk that charmed Jareth into accepting the Goblin King title in the first place; the careless freedom.

Souay cooed at her master, her talons digging into his arm. _Your duties come first, Goblin King._ Her head slanted at an angle, wanting to make eye contact with him.

"Do not look at me so sternly Souay," he chided. "I'm trying to concentrate."

The snow owl pecked his ear lightly.

"Pah, enough. Go amuse yourself then, I've work to do." Jareth raised his arm to give his familiar a decent lift off. But she refused to leave. "_Souay._"

_And what kind of work will you be attending to, Goblin King?_

"I'm off to The Court, if you must know. I have an Underworld to deal with," Jareth answered sourly. He wanted Sarah and instead he got what she decimated in her wake. It wasn't a favorable trade to the Goblin King. But when it came to being emotional or being responsible, he knew what to do.

_Don't be bitter,_ the snow owl flapped her fine wings and glided out the window. _It's not my fault you lost._

"She must always have the last word," Jareth mused to himself. He proceeded to follow his scribe first to the throne room, only half-heartedly listening to whatever nonsense the goblin was talking about.

"The city is littered with boulders wrecking havoc, the soldiers are scattered, the bridge in the Bog has finally given way, the gate's guardian is broken, the jobs of the fairy exterminator and bridge's keeper need to be replaced, the ballroom is shattered all across the Labyrinth, and I don't know what can be done about the House of Stairs. . . ."

**End of Chapter**

_Thank you all for reading!_

All right now, those of you with an eye for technicalities. . . Yes, in the movie the parents came home that night, not the next morning. But I changed it so. . . yeah, I changed it.

_**Dear. . . . . .**_

**Anij:** Hee hee, Jareth makes the best petulant child, don't you agree? Thank you for my first review! I hope you enjoy all the goodies I have in store.

**They Them Us:** Yeah, that was just a short, introductory chapter. Hopefully something to pull in the readers (?)


	3. Power

**Side Note:** I can't seem to add "!" and "?" to the end of my sentences at the same time. It ends up looking like "!" Just in case you were thinking, 'gee, why didn't the author use an exclamation point and question mark instead of just "!'' Well, that is why.

And in case you haven't noticed, the divider lines aren't working. Yeah. Improvising though.

_**An Offer Given Twice**_

**Chapter Three: Power**

Sarah was beginning to feel frustrated with everything. In particular, she was irked with how the universe, in a twisted sense of humor, might be trying to pull her back to the Labyrinth. She had a few choice words to tell Universe, if Sarah ever got the chance to compose a letter of complaint. The girl stood with a wide stance and erect bearing; she knew that body language would help to depict how serious she was. After all, she was an actress. . . more or less. "Will you listen? Please!"

Brendon was kind enough to stop snickering. Five points for him.

"Look, I really, _really_ think we should just follow the schedule—"

The Drama Club President started laughing, "Y-_you_ think we should _what_? Oh god!" He rolled onto his back, having hysterics so hard, he had to stop and breathe. Sporadically, the heels of his shoes would thump against the stage floor. She watched them mock her and if Sarah could wish—granted, she wasn't going to—she'd **blank** those things would get eaten. Or maybe tossed off a bridge and into the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Sarah wanted to step on him; the urge was so strong that her leg jerked. But she read the cliff notes: if you want to be taken seriously, use big words and full names. At least, that's what the characters in literature did. "I fail to comprehend anything humorous about this conversation, Brendon K. Connelly."

"Ok ok. . . But since when did _you_ want to follow any schedule I ever made? What is this about, really?" Brendon had this annoying quality in his personality that allowed him to appear understanding. Right until he laughed at you. Sarah suspected that he actually did enjoy listening to other people. He might even care. But he just had to laugh at _everything_—plight, anger, sadness. . . He completely broke down in his own amusement after he first met Beatrice. _He_ thought she was a riot. To quote, "her very existence humors me," end quote.

Sarah tapped her foot and bit her lip at a new problem. She just acted on a five-second plan; her brain didn't get to the part as to why playing Labyrinth was a bad idea. Aside from the truth, that is. Time to be vague. "I just don't want to, is all."

The stagehands started ignoring the conversation at this point, not believing a word of it. She noticed they went back to their individual works lightly chatting about how weird The Drama Queen is.

Brendon's eyes turned serious, but his voice was quivering with mirth. "_You_ don't want to play the leading lady in Labyrinth?"

She nodded and wondered when he would stop emphasizing the "you" at the her. Brendon pulled himself up and stood in her face, staring; he snatched her wrist and practically dragged her into an empty dressing room. He locked the door.

Ooookay.

The president sighed and sat on an upturned bucket before he addressed her. "Sarah, I'm going to ask you a series of questions. All right?"

The girl crossed her arms, "Go ahead."

"Did your father die?"

"What?" Sarah asked ludicrously. "No!"

"Your dog? Merlin?" he inquired, undaunted.

"He's alive and well," she replied stiffly. She hoped he wouldn't ask about Toby. He was alive and human, of course, but her face might falter with the shame of wishing her brother away to the Goblin City.

'_But he's safe now,'_ she thought, _'and that has to count for something.'_ She knew the guilt she felt would fade with time because in all honesty—now that she _won_—who in his-her right mind would regret such an amazing adventure? Sometimes the ends did justify the means. And other times winning was everything; losers never got to see their baby brother again.

"Did _anyone_ die?" Brendon leaned against the door behind him. Having such bad posture, he couldn't sit for very long without a slouch.

Sarah had a feeling she knew where this was going. "No."

"Theft? Rape? Disease? Famine? Osteoporosis? Cancer?" Brendon continued as if he carried around a list in his back pocket: Horrible Things That Could Happen to Sarah Williams. Funny how he had yet to actually guess what really happened.

"No," like a record player, she kept repeating herself.

"Did the evil stepmother finally tire of your company and send you to some godforsaken third-world country?" Brendon opened his arms wide, offering a hug, "You'll be missed."

_What?_ Sarah raised her brow, "Rampant imagination, still no."

For a moment he appeared exasperated until an idea flickered in his eyes; he stood and moved toward her. Brendon's hands rested on each of her shoulders. "Sarah," he began softly, "you know everyone thinks you're going to be a fine actress."

"Just where are you going with this?"

His blue eyes looked kind and spoke hesitantly, "Sarah. . Is it because. . you don't remember your lines?"

"What? WHAT!" She pushed against his grip and jabbed an accusing finger at him, "I recall, Mr. Connelly, that you're the one that has a hard time remembering lines if you don't have three weeks of advance notice."

Of course, she was also angry because he was almost right. She _did_ have a problem with that last line and he probably noticed during the rehearsals. But that was before the real Labyrinth.

Brendon winced, "All right, I deserved that. I'm not trying to pick at you."

"Says the person that just asked if I had cancer."

"Ha ha. . ha?"

Sarah's pride was a careful thing, though not particularly large, it was very sensitive. Normally, it wasn't something to worry about since she was only obsessed with literature and acting. And for the most part, no one was stupid enough to question her about either of the two. "I could play that part with my toes nailed to the stage."

"Prove it," he challenged. The president's smooth transition from tentative question to a daring confrontation would have rung a warning bell if the sane part of Sarah was active. The prideful Sarah was driving now and the consequences be damned.

"The last scene. On the stage. _Now_." she chewed out.

They both walked out of the dressing room. Well, Sarah stomped. Brendon glided like he was on a cloud, also completely ignoring the consequences of his actions. The president left last because he wanted to grab a wig, crown, and fancy overcoat. He'd let her prove herself and figured that once she did, her love of the Labyrinth would be rekindled. Then maybe he wouldn't have to start all over again with a new play.

Sarah was already waiting for him impatiently, yanking barrettes out of her hair and flinging them at the audience chairs. She was radiating so much will that all the stagehands just scurried off the site to watch from a distance.

'_In for a penny, in for a pound,'_ he thought, mentally gathering his stage charisma and leaping into the role of the Goblin King.

Soon after, Brendon felt like he was in for a ton. He didn't know when she turned from good to amazing, but he was drowning in her spirit. When he looked into her solid green eyes, he truly felt like a cruel Goblin King; he felt uncomfortable and guilty under her truth. She stared upon him imploringly but not without calm insistence, "Give me the child."

Brendon acted the part in return, trying to remain in character despite his awe and confusion. They exchanged more words, and Brendon was beginning to feel trapped, much like the Goblin King must have.

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered. . ." she began and made a step forward, completely unforgiving of his plight. "I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City."

Brendon knew the script didn't call for him to step backwards, but he needed some distance; he felt too close. Furthermore, Sarah followed his next step with hers. She wasn't quite aggressive, but with each stride, the Pretend Goblin King _had_ to take another retreat. "For my will is as strong as yours—"

God, he was never going to bait Sarah again, "Stop," he whispered, raising his hand to call it off.

Sarah paused; her eyes flickered like she recognized the gesture and the exact moment. She became determined, forgetting that this time, it was just a play and that Brendon wasn't _him_. She could almost feel his presence on stage, watching, and it only spurred her illusion. Her chin lifted, "And my kingdom's as great."

There was a brief silence and everyone's breath hitched.

"_You have no power over me."_

_**- - - - - - DAYLO'S DIVIDING LINE - - - - - -**_

Jareth's hand jerked momentarily as the crystal he'd been playing with fell to the floor. The shattered pieces spread evenly across the stone of his throne room. _'What the Bog was that?'_

"Your Majesty?" the scribe implored timidly.

His blue and brown gaze was sharply looking around every nook and cranny, as if something icky was about to pounce on him.

It should be known that goblins have seven senses instead of the human's basic five. The sixth sense was Insight—a sort of awareness beyond the corporeal—and a seventh known as Trick. Hence the name, Trick was what allowed goblins to do what goblins do best.

A Goblin King's senses were, naturally, heightened and his Insight was screaming in alarm. It was growing more and more urgent with each passing minute and his heart thrashed in a seizing pain. Nothing was physically wrong with him he knew—not that there ever was or ever would be. But his Insight was still ringing in his ears.

He looked to the scribe and motioned for him to come closer.

The goblin obliged. "Yes, my King?"

"Did your Insight sense anything?" What unnerved Jareth was the inability to locate this. . . surge. It if was Souay he was asking, he'd entrust more than an encrypted question, but he sent her out for the day. He knew how much his familiar got twitchy about goblin politics and economy. She got peckish, excuse the pun, around goblins that would invade her master's personal space to whisper about "boring things." Regardless of the fact that she was the one who insisted business before pleasure.

"No, my liege, I sense zilch." The scribe's eyes were darting around now, anxiously hoping to see nothing askew, least he flee in premature panic.

Jareth frowned and considered his strangely pounding heart. . odd since his heart was no longer his own to. . . _'Sarah.'_

Something dangerous in Jareth smiled; a natural response whenever a moment of equal intensity arose. "You may leave now."

Without waiting for the scribe to be done excusing himself, the Goblin King pulled the fallen crystal shards to a perfect sphere. _'What are you doing to cause such alarm, my Sarah? Hmmm?'_

He searched into the mists of his crystal.

"Stop," a boy whispered from inside. Jareth wanted to laugh at the horrible ensemble of fashion this human wore. He couldn't even begin to list all the problems with that human's crown—

"And my kingdom's as great."

Her beautiful voice soothed Jareth's pain just as much as it thrilled him. If only he could touch her, but if just for one moment, to just touch that fascinating creature. . . Upon comprehending the words from her lips, rather than the lips themselves, he was both curious and mortified. _'The Bog is she doing? Showing every human how she defeated me?'_

Goblin King didn't want to watch this anymore. He wanted to break the crystal as he hung on to every precious word. How he had become so addicted so quickly was not something Jareth questioned; even now, while his Sarah was demonstrating to onlookers how she vanquished the Goblin King. He knew and understood and probably hated it all at once. Had it been anyone else playing out his defeat, he would've killed the idiot in a fine rage. But Sarah was different. Sarah was _Sarah_; a standalone creature with a decree written in the stars just for _her._

"You have no power over me."

'_Don't I?'_ Jareth thought, seething and enamored. _'Don't I just. .'_

"I have a present for you, beloved," he whispered, watching with interest as he sent a crystal Above. While he waited, knowing the transaction would take a moment, he observed a small crowd give his Sarah a standing ovation. She was blinking in her confusion, as was the boy he just realized was supposed to be _him._ That was an insulting notion he didn't want to consider in detail.

They were cheering their support, saying how they were glad Sarah had insisted they perform Labyrinth. A muscle in Jareth's jaw twitched. Did she have to _insist_?

"No! No! You don't understand, that was just for Brendon—I was only proving a point, that's all!" Sarah tried to explain herself, but they weren't listening. He felt her distress, though not in a particularly sympathetic way. Jareth wanted to feel Sarah's delicious weight in his arms and comfort her senseless. He also wanted her distraught for taunting him in the safety of The Above. The space between anger and love blurred and tangled inside his beating heart.

The boy said nothing to confirm or deny anyone's opinions about the play. If anything, he looked off-balance and stricken. The Goblin King wondered what. . . Brad?. . . was to his Sarah. He noticed that the human _might_ be handsome enough to attract a glance or two. This immediately gave reason for Jareth to dislike Brian.

"Listen to me!" Sarah shouted over their appraisal. "We must not play Labyrinth!" she stressed each word with energy and conviction.

"And why not? This is the best acting you've ever done! And it is your favorite book—"

'_Is it now?'_ Jareth grinned. She must have a soft spot for literature. Made sense.

"Because. . because. . ." she was grasping around for something plausible to say, "because Snow White is a far better play. It would not be fair to skip it for a stupid little Labyrinth, right?"

"Stupid. . little. . ?" he mouthed, unbelieving. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he hissed, "you need a lesson in humility."

The crystal should be in place now. The Goblin King smirked his pleasure.

_**- - - - - - LINE OF DIVISION - - - - - -**_

Sarah looked to Brendon, "Besides, Brendon did some _wonderful_ modifications to Snow White." The girl hoped that in complimenting the Drama Club President, he'd snap back to attention. Wake up. . wake up. . . "It was foolish of me to—"

What was that movement? A glimmer just past Brendon's right shoulder, near the end of the stage where the red curtain bunches. "To—ah, to. . ." It was bright yet elusive, and she stared all the harder, unable to look away. "To. . ."

It couldn't be a hallucination because it was obviously solid enough to move the curtain aside. She thought it might be a human figure and squinted her eyes. Then the stranger's face was illuminated with a strange light.

_Jareth's_ face. Shit.

Sarah, a naturally calm and level-headed being in the face of unexpected terror, cried out in panic. She stumbled backwards and fell to the hard floor. _'He can't be here,'_ her mind raced, _'He can't. I didn't wish for anything!'_

His eyes were looking right into her soul and glowed with an eerie greed. She could feel her body shaking underneath his anger. His lips held a demon's curve as he mouthed out a message. Her ears strained to hear him, the tiniest whisper, but she was too afraid to listen. Her entire body was straining to run away, trapped under his blue and brown gaze.

"Sarah? Sarah!" Brendon's hands were on her shoulders again, shaking her. He blocked her view of the Goblin King, but the image was already in her mind, branded into her memory. Jareth would haunt her forever, she knew that much. Her mouth moved in time with his quiet words.

_I have no power over whom?_

**End of Chapter**

_Thank you all for reading!_

_**Dear. . . . . .**_

**Anij:** Haha, yeah, I had that problem with names last time. There was a definite sense of barrage going on; though I appreciated their reviews anyway. Speaking of, thanks for yours since it's the only one I've got. I think I'm going to read the book just to get a better insight into the story.

I just realized my mistake in summary when you gave me KUDOS; it was an idea to have Sarah wished down again but then. . . yeah, I changed my mind. I wanted to have fun with Jareth coming up; it'll create more opportunities. Yeah, I did my best to show how different a Jareth Chapter would be compared to a Sarah Chapter because I want readers to get a feel how different their entire worlds are. The next is another Jareth Chapter.

. . . do you think I went too far on the OMG-ness? I thought that was a common adage among the fellow teenage populace. Though it did create the new image effect. Ah well, too late now.


	4. A Perfect Love

**My apologies:** to you dear literates. It's Midterm Season and we students are the targets. Surely you know that feeling of being chased by your GPA while simultaneously trying to reach it.

I'm still dancing around the Fae thing; waiting for the best time to introduce my idea. This chapter was difficult but so much fun! I listened to "My Horse Must Lose" by The Sounds of Animal Fighting, Modest Mouse, and this song from the Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack to get into the mood I wanted. Okay, no more advertisements. Read on!

_**An Offer Given Twice**_

**Chapter Four: A Perfect Love**

If any one creature were to take the time to think of a gathering of perfection, this creature would unknowingly be thinking of The Court. An assorted collection of success and prestige; they are the ideals of each wistful thought anyone would have for itself. The talented, the dangerous, the beautiful, and most importantly, the best. There was no greater honor than to be a Court affiliate; except for perhaps being the Emperor or Empress of Under. However, this truth was often overlooked since it was only a two-seater exception.

Now imagine even further what it meant to be perfect. Unrivaled. Flawless. Incontestable. Compared to the imperfect—otherwise known as damn near everybody—it is strange and clean. Perfection is never questioned, not from fear or ignorance, but what creature in its right mind would interrogate perfection?

Continue the thought and wonder what would happen if perfect met its match and failed to gain whatever it wished to achieve. For those lucky enough to glimpse upon The Court, they could not possibly conceive of such a notion. As for everyone else, try to stretch your functioning brain around an irritated Goblin King and you have just pictured what happens when a perfect fails.

Jareth pushed aside another set of thick doors on his way to the one room he wasn't allowed to enter with magic. Now that he has descended from his wings of excellence, he had to suffer _doors_. It was a most humiliating process and it grew all the more aggravating with each new set of carved pearl. Despite his current situation, on his way to face down his failure, his mind still whirled of Sarah. His heart quivered in remembrance of those wide green eyes. He recalled the connection they held together as they mouthed his words together; he shivered at the thrill. But an altogether different emotion saturated his heart when. . . Brian? . . thought to put his hands on Sarah. _His Sarah_. What idiot in his right mind places hands on _his_ intended? Jareth dented an exquisite set of river stone doors at the thought.

It was this distraction that allowed him to walk upright beneath the weight of disappointment. He forced the last set of doors open with a spread of his hands. He noticed the room and its inhabitants were as pristine as ever, something that Jareth was only attracted to fifty percent of the time. Personally, a little chaos is pleasing—as anyone could tell by his choice of hair style. His tall boots clipped and jingled across the thick slab of diamond. He preferred stone as a more suitable material for floors, but reason is never important to fashion. That is, aside from the flaunting—the most natural reason in the universe. Which was fine; his fitted maroon pants could attest to that.

The eyes of The Court watched with surprise upon their fallen comrade. They all knew he should no longer be here without an invitation. As an imperfect, his presence was highly questionable; but as a Goblin King, telling Jareth where to and not to be was extremely hazardous. For now, they watched him from their respective perches with disapproval.

Out of habit, the Goblin King walked towards his place among the esteemed until he realized his chair had been removed. _'That was quick,_' he frowned, but pushed onward to walk up five little stairs and onto a pedestal from which announcements were made. He rested his forearms on the top comfortably as if he always deserved to be there. This irritated some, but left others tsk'ing at how the great can sometimes fall, yet refuse to do so gracefully. The Court had high hopes for Jareth, they thought he would be the one to survive and rule Labyrinth and many were fond of him. As in not anymore.

He gazed upon each face devoid of desperation or hope. Jareth's certainty was absolute in the knowledge that someone would return his chair to where it once rested. They waited for him to say his farewell speech or plead to be let back in. But there the Goblin King stood, comfortable and silent. He grinned down at them, and enchanted, they smiled in return. But he did nothing else to justify someone physically throwing him out, aside from everyone wanting him gone.

The Court shifted in small ways. Some patted down their sleeves; others craned their necks to see if everyone else's reaction was the same: none wanted to believe what they were seeing and no one wanted to correct it either. Granted, a Goblin King may be a dangerous adversary, but an imperfect had to be addressed.

An elf with impossible golden eyes, stood from a pile of lush feather pillows. He calmly set down a goblet of plum merlot next to a stunning silver elf. He held steady to bear the responsibility of putting the rouge element in its place—or just anywhere but here. "Goblin King, you are not—"

"No."

The room stiffened and the elf frowned, having never been interrupted by its inferior before. He started again, "Goblin King—"

Jareth finally leveled upon the room more than his confidence, but his cruelty. He slapped away the pedestal, sending it flying across the distance in pieces. "**No.**"

A hostile aura hinted the possibility of violence, thickening the air to the point where it was difficult to breathe. The Goblin King engaged in a battle of wills and after a time, the elf began to shake beneath Jareth's strength. It wasn't until two more elves stood in favor of perfection that Jareth felt pressured to surrender. An infamous warlord and a handful of royals later and his was no longer the dominant presence.

"Step down with dignity, Goblin King," the warlord advised, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"_Zhain._ It is because of my dignity that I stand among you." Jareth countered, taking notice of his ex-companion's use of formality.

"Even the perfect fail, _Jareth_," he retorted, "let it go."

_Fail._ What a poor choice of words. Jareth set and reset his jaw as the nasty flavor stung his mouth for the first time. It traveled from his belly and spread like a cold rage. The word thrashed its way into his resting heart, for which it did not twitch in anger as his fists were now. His heart only remembered the magnificent creature that taught him how to fail. That perfect smile she never graced his way. The method she rejected him made his blue and brown gaze seethe of want and wrath. He looked upon his opponents and decided he had had enough of their opposition. After all, they weren't Sarah; why should he have to tolerate this? In his left hand he twisted a crystal and in his fingers, the crystal danced. The crowd flinched at the sight of it. "Oh," he teased, "Did I forget to mention?"

He brought out another crystal just for the satisfaction of seeing them squirm.

The Elves immediately sat down at the sight of it, the royals followed after. The tension lifted from the room as if bloodshed was not a breath away. He knew crystals changed everything though he had not meant to present them with his temper. But it got the desired effect.

Jareth was perfect again; and those that didn't think so left the room, as was their right. He made a careful note of each Court member that refused to acknowledge his achievement; remembering the number of enemies he made this day. As everyone was silenced expectantly, waiting for a little speech he owed The Court, the warlord interrupted. As a battle veteran, Zhain was not so easily intimidated by a handful of crystals. "And just how long have you forgotten?"

Jareth pulled mismatched eyes from the doorway that allowed passage to three new enemies. He smirked, "Labyrinth gave them to me, the little darling. She's so affectionate; always kissing me with glitter."

He didn't answer the question, but it was common knowledge to never seek an answer twice from a Goblin King. It did address the question if anyone would be able to tame the Labyrinth and its goblins. So casually Jareth talked about the Legend of the Labyrinth, as if it wasn't one of the most impossible accomplishments known Below.

Though a great self-sustaining and abundant power, the Labyrinth wasn't one to offer the gift to every power-hungry smirk that came its way. In fact, it was the only royal station in which lineage meant nothing; no one inherited the power or the gift of crystals automatically. Before Jareth's entry, there were few titles more abhorred than that of a Goblin King's. It is a position eventually filled by the unwillingly desperate; usually spoiled Baron's sons that could not succeed in The Courts or battle. No one wanted to govern a land of trickery and right questions leading to strange answers. It was impossibly dirty, chaotic, and disrespectful to proper conduct.

Of all the ranks in the Underworld, Goblin Kings have the highest failure-death rate and with ugly style. Provided that one survives in the first place, many return with their souls maimed.

To make the situation worse, the King's Under Lords were unruly and spiteful, the inhabitants were unseemly, the Labyrinth fickle, and if the wind sways one way, the smell of the Bog of Eternal Stench will waft right into the King's bedchamber. Those with the ability to avoid the Labyrinth's Kingship do so with zest; hence everyone agreed it was the equivalent to being slowly condemned to death. Then on a colorful fall morning, a young Jareth announced to Below his insistence to be the Goblin King. Many wondered for his mental health as they probably continue to even now, but it seems that granting his wish was everyone's greatest mistake.

Zhain only had one concern, making his thumb rub against the sword's hilt in thought. He observed how naturally the crystals played into Jareth's gloved palm, so he must have gained them years before this announcement. In all the time Zhain had known the trickster, he never showed this much ambition publicly. He would happily flaunt his looks and confidence with the ladies, but never his power. Jareth remained cautious, indirect, and seemingly content with Kingship so never involved himself in politics or power struggles.

The warlord remembered many occasions he and Jareth would spar to the point of exhaustion and broken bones. Of all those times, Jareth lost more than he had won. It disgruntled Zhain to know that each "graceful loss" the Goblin King mocked, he was smirking not in Zhain's triumph, but in the knowledge he had let it happen.

So what had caused Jareth to give up his secrets now? Loosing a baby to a little human girl?

'_No,'_ Zhain shook his head, someone this upset surely lost something more important than pride. But what could it be? The warlord's tongue tingled with the need to ask these questions, but knew better than to do so with an audience.

Of course, not everyone had the warlord's foresight.

"King Jareth, if I may ask. . ." began a winged prince in the far corner.

The trickster raised his eyebrow in curious approval and it was too late for Zhain to warn the avian to stop. Everyone's attention turned to the new member as they also predicted disaster from the prince's question. He was too young to know about Jareth's temper, or the full impact a crystal could have on such flammable wings.

". . . you've had these gifts for awhile now?"

"That would be correct." The room stirred at Jareth's open words and cool exterior.

The prince's beaded hair clicked together as he readjusted his ashen white wings. "Then how could you loose to a human?"

The room grew tense. They shared an "it was nice knowing you" sentiment for the prince.

Jareth's mysterious laughter was the last thing anyone expected to hear. "What makes you think Sarah is human?"

_What?_ The Court stared at the King with dumb looks on their faces.

"Then what is she?" asked the curious prince.

"My love." The Labyrinth's glitter swirled around his body and he disappeared before The Court could express their shock and outrage.

There was one last. . _thing_ that should be mentioned about being perfect. It was not a consequence, exception, or drawback; since there could be no disadvantages to perfection. It existed nonetheless as something. Perhaps best expressed as a truth: perfects do not find real love. They know affection, caring, sensuality, and everything close but never love itself. They experience eminence and pleasures most could never fathom, but not love. This joy was only for those capable of having equals and compromises; and since The Court is about constant superiority, they were fatally incompatible with love.

A perfect claiming to have love and be loved is the target of much distain and envy as the Goblin King would experience. Crystals be damned, love was unforgivable.

_**- - - - - - DAYLO'S SYMBOLIC DIVIDING DASH LINES - - - - - -**_

Jareth glittered into his throne room chuckling to himself. He slipped off his dark blood red cloak and hung it on a stone piece protruding from the wall. He was still grinning at the absurdity of Sarah's "humanity" as he sat sideways on his throne, throwing his legs across the arm. He played with the broach resting on his ribs, "You won't believe what I heard today, Souay. Come inside, let us share my mirth."

_I am already in a disbelieving mood, Your Majesty._ The snow owl ambled from the outside window sill into view. He always knew where she was hiding.

Jareth's face brightened in delight and question, "Oh, you have something to share?"

_Word has traveled of your. . the uproar you caused in The Court's lounge._ She flapped her wings and glided to the perch at the head of the throne's chair. Her dark eyes stared at him and Jareth knew that in a private corner of her mind, she was chiding her master with profanities.

"It only took me four seconds to get from there to here."

_The speed of gossip is instantaneous. Much like your temper._

Jareth smirked, "Apparently."

The owl openly glared her honesty upon her king; _That is not something to be proud about._

". . Apparently."

The master and servant engaged in a staring contest. Jareth playfully drummed his fingers against his royal crest until Souay relented. _All right, what is it you wanted to tell me?_

The Goblin King pulled into a sitting position, "So this boy across the room—"

_Which boy?_

"—it doesn't matter who; so he asked me—"

_If he wasn't significant then you would not have mentioned him._

Jareth rolled his eyes, "—he's only important to the story."

_Then who is he?_ Souay insisted.

He waved his hand in negligence, "Some prince."

When Jareth opened his mouth to continue the story—_Which prince?_

The Goblin King jingled the bells on his boots impatiently, "Souay, must you taunt and interrupt me? Show some respect when we're alone just as you do when we're not."

_What did he look like?_

Jareth sighed, "Wings, silver crown, small in height."

The snow owl hooted in reprimand; _What a Goblin King! That was the Prince of the Skies! The first heir to my original king. How could my master forget such a name?_ she asked the ceiling.

"Quite easily," Jareth retorted, "now if you'll pay attention to—"

_But why?_ Souay teased in question.

Jareth thrummed his fingers against his crest in annoyance, regardless of how much he enjoyed banter and conflict, he would much rather share his mirth while it lasted. "It is my royal imperative as a Goblin King to be careless and impudent to the ways of politics and conduct. Are you done?"

_An owl is never 'done', my liege. But since you are busy, I will relent for the day._

Jareth frowned, "What—"

Three goblins burst into the throne room. One of them was his scribe carrying a bundle of scrolls. "Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"

The Goblin King sent a glare at the retreating figure of his familiar flying into the horizon before turning his attention to stately matters. "What is it?"

Another goblin, dressed as a soldier, stepped forward, "Some bloke rally'n an army on our east'n border, Your Majesty. We suspect trolls, that we do."

Trolls were an uncompromisingly ugly race; very distant cousins to the dwarves. They ranged from four to five feet in height, with long limbs, tough leathery skin, and a fierce disposition ideal for battle. Trolls hungered for any kind of raw meat—including goblins—and often haunted mountains and underground caves. Not clever in mind, but they horde in large masses to over-whelm their enemies. Jareth gave a look of disgust, remembering the first and what he had hoped to be the last time he dealt with the stupid creatures, "How fares our army?"

The scribe fumbled with his papers, "Still scattered; most are working with the carpenters to repair the city."

The Goblin King wondered which enemy would hate him enough to ally himself with trolls. He grabbed his cloak from the stone wall, "I shall go and see for myself."

"Your Majesty?"

He pointed to his subjects, "You wait here and rally the goblins to defend _all_ our borders but the Labyrinth entrance; have them place hoses in the Bog of Eternal Stench that connect to the outside. Prepare the cannons, and get my Under Lords here now."

They all bowed and mumbled, "Aye Your Majesty," as their king disappeared in a snowfall of glitter.

**End of Chapter**

_Thank you all for reading (and enjoying)!_

**_Dear. . . _**

**Solea:** Oh, haha, I did not mean that to you or the others that previously reviewed and supported me. I suppose that was just a small ploy on my part to hike up the reviews. I was promised a box of chocolates if I achieve sixty reviews. Ignore the part where I can afford my own chocolate. I have a thing for gifts; but then again, who doesn't?

**Anji:** "Daylo's Dividing Line" huh? That your favorite? I'll repeat that in every now and again as I'm trying to think up as many different little phrases as possible. I'm glad I changed it, too. Though it's more important what the readers think I guess, since if I was just writing for myself, I wouldn't be posting it on the internet.

**Amunett:** Awww, you added me? Hug for you.

**notwritten:** Thank you; may you continue to think so. Or is it, may I continue to write well so you will continue to think so? Whichever.

**Maat:** Awww, hug for you too. Or, should I say, _evil_ hug for you?

**RagamuffinSundrop:** Thank you, I will.


	5. Goblin Talk

I bought the Labyrinth Soundtrack last week. Ahh, I don't know why it took me this long to get it. You know, aside from the fact it was hard to find. Don't squeal, Daylo. . . But look! I updated! I bet you all thought I was dead, huh? Well, that's where you'd be wrong!

_**An Offer Given Twice**_

**Chapter Five: Goblin Talk**

Souay loved to hide in the sun. Not a single Troll took notice of her presence circling above their heads, or the occasional. . . donation she left atop a random Troll's shoulder. _Mindless brutes,_ she thought, watching as they sharpened their weapons against the solid skin of a sleeping Rock Golem. The owl made one grand, vigilant sweep, counting their numbers in her mind. It wasn't as serious as Souay originally figured, but just large enough to cause alarm. No general, warlord, or leader was counted among the ranks. If one could dignify the way they clustered a league outside Labyrinth's eastern border "ranks". The uproar her master caused in Under was still too fresh for real opposition. Whoever instigated this wouldn't dare be present without a large, political following.

Still, the snow owl wondered if it would be wise to completely obliterate this little gathering. It was obvious they were testing his borders, and to kill off these rogue Trolls would surely ignite a tidal wave of retribution among the rest of their race. The instigator of this gathering must have known that. She angled her wings to catch a coming draft and smoothly glided away. The familiar kept a knowing eye on the empty space between Labyrinth and the Trolls, waiting for her master. Surely, the Goblin King would insist on meeting this opposition alone and sadistic. Despite his recent, cheerful disposition from The Court visit, he's been repressing a lot of violent energy since. . . since then.

He did not disappoint. Jareth materialized where her eyes predicted and Souay went to him. She could see his unsatisfied expression but welcomed her with an extended forearm she was pleased to take. "How many?" he murmured.

_Too few._ Souay hesitated, but did not refrain from being the bearer of bad news. _Some thousand and the occasional Rock Golem sleeping off the journey._

Jareth grumbled darkly; clearly annunciating an 'I deserve better' tone, "I feel snubbed." He turned thoughtful, "The one time I go out of my way to antagonize my peers, and this is all I get for my trouble?"

He was baiting her; to lighten the mood of his disappointment. 'The one time', indeed. Souay shifted her feet closer to his elbow, lightly scratching the muscle underneath his skin. She adopted a comforting tone, _How strenuous it is, being so rude and vulgar._

The trickster's head jerked to his familiar, completely ignoring the army banding together. "You think I am vulgar?"

He didn't question the rudeness; some aspects of his personality were too obvious to lie about. No one would believe it.

_I would never dare to insinuate such blasphemy; I think you're quite diligent._

"With my vulgarity."

_Now you're just putting words in my mouth,_ she rebutted with offense. The snow owl straightened, resettling her wings to announce that she was done with the banter. Souay felt the need to remind him, even though he already knew this, but. . . _My loyalty to you is irrefutable Jareth._ They had always been on first-name basis, ever since their bonding. Souay preferred to honor him by title in public, though her master reminded her it was unnecessary. He would never care, but she insisted. Souay owed her life to Jareth: he had saved her from a life of endless, bitter snow. He saved her from becoming a tool of politics.

"Your loyalty is not in question, Feather Lady, it's your opinion of me I'm worried about." His frown was insistent, the downward tuck demanding immediate praise. But his eyes were grateful and affectionate. Though Jareth's heart belonged to another, he would always be her master. Her savior. Her king. Her best friend.

Souay hooted in laughter, her honest, dark eyes absorbed every expression. _Keep worrying._

"Humph!"

_**- - - - - - DAYLO GOT A 'B' IN DIVISION - - - - - -**_

'_This is bad,'_ the inner voice said. The one that made obvious statements repeatedly in Brendon's brain. _'I should do something.'_

Yes. Thank me for that. "Sarah," the teen shook his friend's shoulders again, pulling her closer, as if it could help. She didn't respond, her lips were moving, but he couldn't make out the words. He's never been one to experience intense panic, but how could he not recognize it? Her skin was pale, rigid stature, wide glazed eyes, and she was completely ignoring him. _'I should do something.'_

The freshman stagehands were crowding around in a tight circle, adamant to see being more important than helping. They were noisy and overreacting to the point of being useless. Brendon's grip tightened, as opposed to how useful he was being by under reacting? Fuck it, just do anything! The Drama President removed his palms from her shoulders and decided on the bridal style approach—he secretly wanted to try it at least once. He hoisted her close, relieved it worked, and tried to make his way to the door.

Sarah was shivering against his body, and it alarmed him further. The nurse's office it is. The drama students were still crowding him, getting in his way and talking to him—one had the nerve to ask his opinion whether to use mulberry or ruby red. "Just. . just move, damn it!"

They scattered a little. He didn't feel guilty and shoved the rest of the way to the door. With skilled foot-eye coordination, Brendon opened the door without anyone's help and stalked out. _'Don't drop her,'_ he was advised when his arms started getting tired. He wasn't scrawny, but bulging muscle could hardly describe his physique. God, what he wouldn't do for a white stead to carry her off with. The nurse's office seemed like a million miles away while his friend was suffering.

The halls were empty; the bell had already rung though he couldn't remember hearing it. The Drama President turned the corner and with more fancy footwork, he passed another two doors. He strode into the office, "Mrs. Revington?"

"You again Brendon? I swear, it's like you have PMS you stop by so often. Just go lay down and I'll consider writing you an excuse later." The voice came from behind a privacy curtain in the back of the room. It was fortunate they were on such friendly terms, he realized. Well, the luck actually lay in Mrs. Revington's little-known weakness for theater; it gave Brendon, as Drama President, a lot of—cough—cramps. That was a lot of missed Chemistry classes.

"Oh, ha ha, Mrs. Revington." Brendon walked over to the nearest bed and set Sarah on the sheets. He eyed her in an up-down motion, just to be sure—though of what, he hadn't a clue, but at least he was certain of it now—before marching over to the school nurse. He didn't bother messing with the cheap drape. "I'm not here for myself," pause, "today. Would you look at her? Now?"

Mrs. Anne Revington's head leaned into view. She dressed like a librarian and smelled like dry books. There was an intelligent slant in her lips and fine-rimmed glasses that slipped on her nose uselessly. She had a strict, leave-your-bullshit-at-the-door demeanor. It was obvious she wore the pants in her marriage, no matter who the husband was. "Is it serious?"

Brendon pulled at his hair after going through the motions of pushing the strands from his face. "I—I don't know."

The school nurse regarded him in a professional silence and in a second, she knew what to do—to his immense relief. "Get a glass of water and my favorite chair."

The Drama President nodded and dutifully walked off. When he returned, the nurse had completed a routine check up: pulse, forehead, pupils, breathing, etcetera. She tucked her little flashlight away, "I think she's just experiencing shock. Perhaps an emotional stimulus; it's best if we let her sleep it off for now."

Brendon's attention fell to the girl. At some point, Sarah did fall asleep when he wasn't looking. He felt the tension ease from his shoulders. Emotional stimulus, as vague as it was, didn't sound fatal. Brendon had already formulated a plan to PMS his classes away so he could be here to scold Sarah for freaking him out. Being the Drama President had a lot of perks (like skipping all the known sciences). He enjoyed the leadership, responsibility, and challenge. But the teen knew he didn't have much stomach for real drama. He's a frank, laugh at the world, do anything once type. And he had already tried real-life drama once, immediately finding it not to his liking. And somehow, this whole event reeked of something he wasn't willing to do twice.

"When I called her name, she wouldn't look at me." Brendon thought that over and corrected himself, "Well, she was looking through me."

Mrs. Revington turned to face him, not taking the glass of water he offered her, "Frightening, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Brendon shook his extended hand a little, "Here."

Her eyebrow arched, "The water is for you, silly boy. And the chair. Come and pull up a seat next to your friend."

After the teen settled himself by Sarah's side, he answered any questions the school nurse asked. This, in turn, calmed his own nerves as he would occasionally sip from the cold tap water. While retelling the morning's events, Mrs. Revington interrupted him only once: she smacked him upside the head. "What the—ow!"

The nurse turned into an irritated adult woman, standing her impressive five foot eight inches (high heels not required) over the student, "You asked if Sarah was raped, had cancer, or recently suffered some form of harm? What sort of idiot are you?"

Brendon's cheeks flushed. "A good one?"

"That's right," the nurse huffed, a witty curl pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Don't worry. I'm sure Sarah didn't have an episode because you inquired about her premature Osteoporosis."

"Premature?" Brendon protested lightheartedly, "Hey, it can happen to people our age, too! It was a reasonable thing to ask."

The school nurse rolled her eyes to the ceiling, "I don't even want to know what those health teachers are cramming into your brain. I've got paperwork to attend to, so just stay there. If you have an urge to do anything, stop yourself, all right?"

"Yeah yeah, I'll be here." Brendon slouched further into the chair to assure the skeptical nurse. There was no way he was going to leave, anyway.

Mrs. Revington turned away, then turned back, deciding upon some last minute advice. "You said she was acting weird today. Don't interrogate her about it; something could have happened over the weekend, so just go slow. You hear?" She didn't wait for his response as it was a rhetorical threat. She pulled the courtesy curtain around them.

Brendon heard, and swallowed down his eagerness. He swiveled the chair near Sarah and waited for her to wake up patiently.

_**- - - - - - DAYLO'S DIVIDING LINE (as per Anji's request) - - - - - -**_

_. . .Even the perfect fail, Jareth, let it go. ._ That damnable sentence! Every time he even thought about his failure, rage would coat over his sensibilities. He plunged into the fray with each remembrance of his _failure_, knocking off heads and blasting Rock Golems into pebbles. He roared in anger until his throat grew soar.

All too soon, the once sand-hard earth had been so thoroughly coated in Troll blood, the ground turned to red mush. There were some places, where the bodies piled high, so drenched in the dark red liquid, a deadly sandpit would form, swallowing anything on its surface. The scene around him reeked massacre. Still, it didn't feel the same and somehow that angered Jareth into another fit. Except there was no one left to vent his frustrations. For the first time, the unadulterated violence he unleashed failed to disgust him. In fact, he hardly felt done. His blue and brown gaze traveled against the gruesome landscape he had painted. . . Something was missing.

"Damn it!" With nothing left to do, Jareth stalked away from the stench of the freshly dead. He kicked a miscellaneous arm from his path. He could simply glitter back home, but there was a little satisfaction to be had as each stomp made impressions upon the soft soil.

It took an hour before he was walking the twisting corners of Labyrinth. Jareth didn't bother to look where he was going; his Insight knew the way. His feet traveled automatically, allowing his thoughts to wander. There were moments, horrifying in their brevity, when the pain of his dead heart could be ignored with combat. His hurt was a reflection of the raw death. And it helped.

The Goblin King sauntered into the throne room an hour later, completely lost in his dark contemplations he had forgotten about the Under Lords he had summoned. He had taken so long to return that they were lounging all over the room, suppressing their yawns. Everywhere, but near his throne, of course. As Jareth walked in, they straightened hastily. Some of the goblins even glared at his back. He took little notice and sat on his throne, consumed with notions of love and recent carnage.

Twelve pairs of eyes waited for him to speak. One of the twelve, coughed in his throat. Jareth looked up, "Hmm?"

"You sent for us, Your Majesty?"

Jareth blinked. "Ah. So I did. I'd like to announce that I'm in love and we're going to war." When they didn't react (he was hoping they'd leave), he added, "That is all I have to say."

"W-war?" squeaked Under Lord Sawn, "but, but, we can't go to war! We're goblins, not Ogres! We're two feet high!"

"Who are we warring with? Perhaps an agreement can be made."

"It's about time, if you ask me—"

"—We're all going to die! Ohhh. . !"

"Shut yer flap, yeh yellow-belly! If our king says war then—"

"—I need new armories if we're going—"

"—Let's surrender!"

"Let's not!"

Bicker bicker bicker. Jareth forgot how much fun it was to have his Under Lords in his castle. Admittedly, goblins going to war with a species other than their own, or sometimes the Dwarves, were absurd. They participate in other wars, but never start one of their own. Goblins are tricksters first and foremost; their abilities are useful, but hardly offensive. Plus, as Sawn said, they get trampled on a lot. An everyday basis.

Goblins had one advantage: no one knew a thing about them. For the most part, no one cared to know. For instance, the enemy doesn't know that goblins don't own land. They build huge cities, spread all across Below, and for each city there is one Lord to govern, who naturally answers to their Goblin King. Including Jareth's Goblin City, there were thirteen total. To keep things simple, all the other cities are named after its Lord. Of those, only four were within public knowledge.

The most treasured secret of the goblin race was the fact that each goblin is technically genderless, therefore sterile. Referring a goblin as "him" is just minimizing the fuss. Everyone assumes that a Goblin King steals human children for fun, or perhaps from a twisted calling of Labyrinth. Rumors are abundant as to why, but in truth, it is the only way to maintain the population. And Jareth doesn't take just human children. He considers anyone. All races are accepted the minute one is wished away. It's just easier to change human children to goblins because they're blank slates in terms of magic. The abandoned are his specialty. Under Lord Gihhe prefers the ones that wish themselves away while Quinn keeps an eye open for the abused. And so on.

What makes that so special is that the universe doesn't recognize goblins as a real race. As such, most forms of magic are not effective against them. Of course, goblins can't perform magic, either, but he figured it to be a fair trade. They had their Insight and Trick abilities; it's enough if used properly.

Jareth waited until the arguments began to circle themselves, after everyone said their peace at least once, he raised his voice, "All right, enough."

They appreciated this about their current sovereign; he let them be true to their natures. He honestly enjoyed being Goblin King. They respected him for it and knew when to shut up if told. "It's too late to negotiate and we're of course too prideful to surrender."

"Aye Your Majesty," they said in unison. Though some were disgruntled, they all knew this was true.

He gave each Under Lord a stern eye, "We _are_ going to war."

"Aye Your Majesty."

"Hopefully, Goblin Cities Sawn, Quinn, and Charl, will be the only ones attacked. Call your goblins to arms and I expect full support from the rest of you. Still, everyone shall prepare their individual defenses; have tunnels and escape routes planned in the event of strategic withdrawal."

"Aye Your Majesty."

"I want constant communication. By the hour."

"Aye Your Majesty." A few of the goblins shifted uncomfortably. Normally, Jareth would leave them to their own devices for the everyday ruling. They'd only meet once every two weeks. Now they needed to conference every hour? Who was he kidding? Goblins are a lot of things and consistency isn't one of them. But they supposed it was worth a try; with the war thing and all.

"Call in all favors and known treaties." Goblins had a lot of peace treaties with a lot of races as no one enjoyed being subjugated to their mischief. Of course, those with a flare for vengeance often used infamous goblin trickery to achieve their goals. Over the decades, that was a lot of favors to call on.

"Aye Your Majesty."

When Jareth was done, he waited as they waited. He remembered to add, "That is all."

"Aye Your Majesty." And they left.

Once the doors shut behind the last goblin, the trickster slumped into his chair. He felt exhausted. Granted, if Jareth gave half a thought about his failure, he'd be wide awake for hours. But as it were, he was too tired to think about that. He didn't even want to risk going to his own chambers, afraid of running into his scribe or something to remind him of anything angry. So he found a comfortable position and dozed. Just a little nap to keep him sane.

While his consciousness proceeded to shut down, his heart drifted to its favorite subject. Jareth pictured her glassy green eyes, reflecting everything they touched. He remembered the sigh of her dark hair, whipping around her shoulders. He loved the way they danced, his hand at the small of her back, rubbing small circles. . .

Souay waited by the windowsill, hidden from view, until she felt it safe to come out. The snow owl graced her way to sit on her master's chest; he stirred, but remained unaware. She could sense the longing of his dream, as he danced with the memory of his beloved. She sighed at her master's silliness. Why did the familiar have to do all the work?

She leaned forward, a spell on her beak, and lightly pecked Jareth's cheek. Souay waited for the spell to gather around him before turning away. _You're welcome,_ she muttered, flying out the window.

_**- - - - - - UMM, I'M OUT OF IDEAS - - - - - -**_

Jareth felt the familiar warmth of dream travel. He's only done so a handful of times, but he recognized pull of his essence slipping from his body. It was a pleasant sensation, actually. By the time he got around to wondering where he was going, he was already there.

He stood in the middle of a white nothing. This wasn't new, most dream meetings happen either in the mind or a place in between any sense of location or space. Scholars speculated it was the gap that separated the Above and Below realms. Jareth looked around expectantly for whomever he should be meeting here. _'Hmm, must not be here yet.'_

As he waited, he decided to paint a setting on the canvas of their meeting place. He grew a valley of lush grass that tickled his bare feet, randomly popped in a tree or two, and set a pair of giant lounge chairs facing each other. What else? Jareth mixed up a cloudy dusk sky. And the occasional breeze. He didn't think to add anything more, just in case someone unpleasant turned out to be his caller.

He lay across the arms of the chair, and tried to be patient. What was taking so long?

"H-hello?" came a voice from behind.

Every nerve ending in Jareth's dream body snapped to attention. The Goblin King pulled himself upright and turned. Sarah gasped in surprised, "You!"

'_That's a nice hello.'_ Truth be told, he was just as stunned as she. This had to be Souay's doing. He made a mental note to thank her after he woke up. While she was asking all the silly questions—"Where am I?" "What am I doing here?"—his brain was frantically trying to figure out how to salvage this situation to his benefit.

He could start by wiping that dumbstruck look off his face. "Hello Sarah," he spoke softly, "you're looking. . ." his eyes roamed her figure, mouth-watering, delicious, sexy, "lovely this evening."

Since this was her first dream travel, she wore what every first timer wore: practically nothing. Sarah donned a white tank that exposed her ribs and navel and a pair of white shorts that covered enough thigh for a little modesty. Very little modesty. The light of the setting sun was doing wonders to give her a soft, touchable glow. That was a lot of skin for Jareth to want to touch. Now if only she'd let him. But his Sarah wasn't one to be so easily swayed from her love of questions, "What's going on, Goblin King?"

He frowned a little at her formality. But soon perked up, "Why, you're dreaming, Sarah."

She remained suspicious. "I don't believe you."

That hurt more than it should. He didn't want her to be skeptical of him, though she had every right. Jareth knew how to twist this, and gave a small tsk that caused her to stiffen. "Sarah, you're the one that dreamed of me—" not quite true, "—I only exist out of your imagination." Definitely not true.

"This doesn't feel like any dream I've had before," Sarah shifted her weight from foot to foot. Just on the verge of taking that step.

"What else could this be, other than a dream?" Bless the mortal realm for their ignorance in the ways of magic.

She looked around at the landscape he wished he'd done more with, "I suppose, but. . but why would I dream of you?"

Jareth snorted, "Why wouldn't you?"

There was no denying how attractive he was, and they shared a little laugh at his expense. At least while under the pretense of a dream, Sarah seemed willing to admit it. He had broken the ice, but he still needed to tread very carefully. "Why not sit down? You can remain just as suspicious of me in a chair as you will standing up."

Much to Jareth's delight, Sarah gave in and practically collapsed into the chair with a huff. He cocked his head to the side and wished she would think to slump a little more, to give him a better view of her legs. Resting her chin on her hand, she mused aloud, "You know, I thought I saw the real Jareth at school this morning. Maybe that's why."

Her eyes darkened as she remembered the experience. He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach for his rash behavior. Would his temper never learn? She continued, "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

Jareth tapped the pendant on his chest, "How do you mean?"

"He. . he won't let me go, will he?"

"Never," Jareth replied with absolute certainty. _'I could never let you go.'_

Sarah sighed, and rubbed her bare arms as if she were freezing. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her face fell out of view. She mumbled, but he heard, "I was afraid of that."

"Sarah," he whispered, but she remained unresponsive. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to touch her.

Jareth fell to his knees before her chair, his body hovering over her huddled legs. "Sarah," he said again, his voice adopting a husky tone he knew from experience to be effective against the opposite sex. He reached out and buried his hands in her hair, nearly groaning at the silk in his fingers. "Sarah. . ."

Her head snapped up, she was on the verge of saying something to ruin his chance. On the verge of realizing that his touch felt too real. Hmm, what lush lips. "It's just a dream, my sweet Sarah," he murmured.

He leaned closer, her knees pressed against his chest and his nose brushed hers. He met her forever green eyes, willing her to fall into the dream. She was confused by his actions. He could see the way her eyes clouded, full of uncertainty, but it wasn't enough to make him reconsider. Jareth brought his hands up to the sides of her face, his thumbs rubbing her smooth cheeks. His body was aching to take any piece he could of his delicious woman. He angled her head just a little, eyes falling to her mouth. His lips grazed Sarah's once, twice, and then melded into hers.

Jareth was lost in her softness, it was pure bliss. He moaned and couldn't help but want more. He nipped at her bottom lip in askance, pulling her closer. Before he could turn their kiss into anything more—Gods, did he want more—Sarah came to her senses and pushed him away.

"This isn't a dream!" she accused, horrified.

Jareth fell back hard, trying to crawl through the lust. "Hmm?"

"I want out! Jareth, I want out right now!" Sarah was out of the chair and pacing around in the grass, trying to find the exit.

He was hypnotized by the sway of her walk, the way her bare legs rubbed against each other when she paced. Some basic sense of self reminded him to answer her, but he couldn't remember what she said. "Hmm?"

She soon grew frustrated with him, "Some Goblin King you are. Hmm, hmm," she mimicked.

The mockery snapped him to his reverie, but he took hold of his temper. Or was trying to. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he said coldly, "if you are so desperate to leave then just wake up."

Her sudden hesitance gave him hope, but Sarah didn't notice, her mind rapidly trying to decide whether or not to believe him. It was worth a try, anyway. She closed her eyes and held her breath, _'I want to wake up.'_

He bitterly watched her fade away, suddenly not so certain he wanted to thank Souay for her little gift. Jareth sighed, who was he kidding? He disappeared from the dream, ready to plead and bribe Souay to make her do it again.

**End of Chapter**

_Thank you all for reading! _

_And. . . sorry about the slowness of my. . well, slowness. Umm, love??_

_**Dear. . . **_

**Solea:** Seeing as how you've already contributed to my sixty review goal, I don't think I can refuse. What would you like on your nachos?

**Anij:** Sigh. . . yeah. Jareth, equal sign, perfection. . . I must try not to squeal like a little girl—too late.

**They Them Us:** Plum merlot just sounded nice. I did a little internet search for wines and stuff and just kinda picked one.

**Amunett:** Sigh. I know, I felt a little ashamed because I had to do that, too. It's my story even! For shame, author, for shame!! Hugs.

**Notwritten:** Once again your kind word(s) have lifted my writer's soul to a higher place.

**Xaviere Jade:** Thinking up Souay is my great pride! You have made me happy. Oh, and, of course, I'm happy you like the concept and stuff. Yes. Thank you.

**RagamuffinSundrop:** Thank you!

**Hellspixie18:** Sorry for making you wait, haha. . . ha. . I'm so ashamed!

**Cutegenius:** Ahhhh! The writer's shame!


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